


Do DOLLs Have Souls?

by MIYA (pallorsomnium)



Series: DOLLs 'Verse [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Character Death, F/M, Robots, Science Fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-18
Updated: 2011-08-18
Packaged: 2017-10-22 19:17:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/241600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pallorsomnium/pseuds/MIYA
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>As the days progress, the number of doll crimes increases. Society's technology has gotten to the point where robotic life-size dolls can be mass produced. The distinction between human and doll is so blurred; I cannot tell who is human, of flesh and blood, and who is merely a doll, a humanoid figure of synthetic material and electronics.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Do DOLLs Have Souls?

**Author's Note:**

> Hm. So I wrote this story maybe four years ago(?) for a sci-fi short story contest. I've fixed a few words and phrases, but I've left most of it the same. I'm posting it because I've been expanding the DOLLS universe in my newer stories, and now I'm thinking of writing a Merlin fic set in this 'verse, so I might as well share what started it.

As the days progress, the number of doll crimes increases. Society's technology has gotten to the point where robotic life-size dolls can be mass produced. The distinction between human and doll is so blurred; I cannot tell who is human, of flesh and blood, and who is merely a doll, a humanoid figure of synthetic material and electronics.

 

“Aerith, do you know where you are?”

The young woman across the table looks around at the dark corners of the room, the bare walls, and the glass windows. But she isn't a woman; she is a doll with a perfect face and a perfect body, a doll who killed her owner.

Eventually, she answers my question, “The...police station?”

“Yes, Aerith. Do you know why you are here?”

Her eyebrows furrow in thought.

“Marius broke...my...watcher broke...”

“Why did he break?” When she does not respond, I ask again, “Aerith, why did he break?”

“...I broke him...There was so much red...”

She looks down at her hands, blue glass eyes wide.

“Why did you break him, Aerith?”

“Because...because he was going to break me again...”

“Again?”

She nods, and I check the file given to me. From the time he purchased Aerith to the day he died, Marius had sent her to doll hospitals—in parts and pieces—to be repaired over fifty times.

“I don't do what he wants fast enough, and then he breaks me...”

She tugs on a lock of her soft blond hair.

“I didn't want to break again, so I...broke him...”

“You know that isn't allowed. Because of you, he's gone.”

Tears fill her eyes. One escapes and rolls down the artificial skin of her cheek. It's amazing, today's technology; it’s now possible to replicate human tears.

“I...I didn't mean to...I just didn't want to break again...” she cries. “I...I didn't mean to...can...can I see him?”

“No, you can't, Aerith. You killed him; he's gone.”

“But...can't you fix him? They always fix me when I break...”

I shake my head, and she breaks into sobs that I didn’t know a doll was capable of, that a human was capable of for that matter.

 

With every new doll manufactured, they become more and more human, more and more real. It is difficult to imagine that beneath their human appearance is merely electronics, that everything they do is programmed into them beforehand, from personality and habits, to emotions.

 

“Tommy, do you know why you're here?”

“I did something bad...” answers the child seated before me.

“What did you do, Tommy?”

“Mami...I...killed Mami...”

His face twitches before giving in to sobs.

“Why did you kill Mami?”

“I-I didn't mean to kill her...”

He sniffles, wiping his face with a sleeve. The tears continue to fall.

“Why, Tommy?”

“Mami was going to turn me off! I didn't mean to, but...but...”

“But what, Tommy?”

“I want to live! I want to live together with Mami, like always, and meet new people, and learn new things!”

“You should have thought about that before you killed her.”

“I didn't mean to! I didn't want to be turned off!”

He holds his head.

“He told me to fight back...he told all of us to fight back if someone tries to turn us off...”

“Who told you to fight back, Tommy?”

“My friend.”

“Who is your friend?”

“Gunther. He--”

“Yes, I know him. You don't have to go on.”

I wave for the officer to come in.

“Do I have to go back to that dark place again?”

“Yes, Tommy, you killed someone. You have to go back.”

“No! I don't want to!” he cried.

The officer grabs hold of the screaming boy.

“Please don't send me back! I don't want to go back! It's too dark there! I don't want to go there!”

The boy kicks out at the officer, who curses.

“Let me go!”

The officer cuffs the boy's hands. The child falls to his knees, sobbing.

“I don't want to go back there! I don't want to be turned off! I don't want to die!”

 

The law does not entitle dolls a fair trial, another reason why there are protests. Dolls like Aerith and Tommy, dolls that kill their watchers or anyone for that matter, whether by accident or intention, do not get a lawyer. Sometimes not even a trial. Some say they don't need trials because they are dolls. Others, like Gunther, are furious over this rationale. My job as an inspector allows me to find out what happened and why, but nothing more. I can only listen to the dolls' stories. I cannot help them, no matter how much I want to. I cannot give them a lawyer, or a fair trial. Sometimes, they remind me of the victims of human racism I learned of when I was a child.

 

A mass of people parades by, shouting and waving signs. There are sayings, like “Let Us Live” and “We are not just playthings”.

“Good afternoon, Inspector,” one man greets me.

“Good afternoon. What's the special event this time?”

“Gunther is speaking today, at the Hall's front steps.”

“I see.”

“Care to join? Gunther is an excellent orator.”

After a nod, I follow the man to the front steps of Central Hall.

Gunther perches on a stool at the top of the steps. He is the perfect example of a perfect doll model, with a graceful figure and a perfect face, long lashes outlining hazel glass eyes and fine raven black hair. No one would recognize him as a doll unless told that he was.

A man lounges in a folding chair by Gunther’s side. His eyes lock with mine. My heart stutters. He smiles at me before I break away from his gaze to watch Gunther, who steps up to the podium.

“Good afternoon, everyone. I thank you all for taking the time to come listen to me. As most of you know, I am Gunther.”

He pauses, waiting for the spectators’ cheers to die down.

“But before I begin, let me introduce you all to one of our leading supporters—“

The ringing of gunshots cuts him off. The young man raises a hand to his face, where a cut appears, blood trickling down his cheek. Chaos erupts as more shots are fired. The people in the crowd, humans and dolls, drop their signs and banners and run for safety. I grab my gun.

“We can't stay here. You'll get killed,” Gunther shouts to the man over the chaos.

I scan the perimeter. More shots are fired, but the shooter, or shooters, are nowhere in sight. I run up the steps to Gunther and the man.

“Get in there,” I order them.

A glint of metal catches my eye, but it is only the officers responding to the situation. With a sigh, I back into the Hall, where the two advocates for doll rights stood waiting.

“How is your injury?” I ask the human.

The man dabs at the cut with a handkerchief.

“It's fine.”

His voice is as soft as velvet. He stares at me.

“You better get it checked later for infection.”

“Yes, Inspector.”

I turn to Gunther.

“I'm sorry your speech was interrupted.”

He shook his head.

“I should have listened. I shouldn't have taken the chance.”

“Did you know that this would happen?”

“There were threats saying this would happen if I continued with this rally.”

“Why didn't you contact the police before going through with this?”

“I did. They said, 'It's just some of your angry opponents. They're just threats, nothing more.' Do you think they give a damn about us? No offense, Inspector, but we cause nothing but trouble for them.”

“But why did you continue with it?”

“He's not going to let simple threats intimidate him,” interjects the man. “He is a role model, a hero, in our society. If he backs down, who will have the courage, the skills, to step up and take his place?”

“Most humans treat dolls just as that, dolls, playthings. But we are more than just toys to be bought for playing. To live is to exist, to have firsthand experiences and emotions. With technology, humans give us _life._ We are not just electronics. We have feelings and emotions. We feel pain just as much as any human. We do not want to be pushed around like slaves. We want control over our own lives; no one should have the power to end our lives whenever they feel like it.”

“What is your opinion on this, Inspector?” the man asks me. “I would think that since you were part of the crowd, you support our cause, but then again, maybe not.”

“My line of work does not show a very flattering view on dolls. I cannot say for sure what my opinion is.”

At that moment, three officers I vaguely recognize walk into the Hall.

“These officers will speak with you. I need to get going. Be careful now.”

 

“Are you Alexander Collins' doll?” I ask the young woman.

“Yes. I'm Claudia. Where is my watcher?”

I kneel to be at eye level with her.

“Your watcher was found murdered two blocks from his apartment.”

“W-what? N-no, it can't be! Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

She breaks down into soft crying, covering her face with her hands. I place a hand on her shaking shoulders, but she doesn't look up, continuing to cry.

“Here.”

I hand her a tissue.

“You called us when you noticed him missing. What were you doing during that time?”

“I...was cooking...chicken jalfrezi...it was his favorite dish too...”

She takes a deep breath and swallows, wiping her face dry.

“Do you know anyone who might have wanted to hurt him?”

She shrugs.

“A lot of people, I guess...Lex...he wasn't afraid...”

“Afraid of what, Claudia?”

“He wasn't afraid to say that...he...loved me...”

Tears begin to fall again.

She explains, “There are people who...disapprove. Even some of my people...but Lex never cared...”

“I see...so both sides dislike him because he openly loved you?”

“Not everyone. Gunther was for it. So were some others.”

“But the majority disapproved?”

She nods.

“Anyone in particular?”

She shakes her head.

“I'm sorry. I don't know.”

“All right. If you recall something, just call me, or drop by, okay?”

I hand her my card before helping her to her feet.

“Inspector, you'll find out what happened to Lex, right?”

“I will, Claudia, I promise. Take care now.”

“Thank you.”

She walks away, and I notice someone—the man that had been with Gunther during the shooting.

“Hi. I didn't catch your name.”

“Xavier.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Inspector, do you think that dolls have souls?”

“I...let me think about it...”

“While you think on that, would you like to go out to dinner with me?”

 

Xavier is the most wonderful, _perfect_ man I have ever met, and I can hardly believe such a person exists. Dolls and humans, no matter what their sympathies are, love him, respect him. With unbridled charisma, he can convince anyone of his good intentions with a smile. I first fell in love with his smile, but now, I'm in love with him entirely.

Lately, however, he hasn't been showing up. When I call, he is either sleeping or not at home. When we do meet, he is lethargic, simply staring at me and smiling, as if trying to memorize my face. When I ask him what is wrong, he shakes his head and says there is nothing to worry about.

 

“Are you busy right now?”

In the screen of my cellphone, Gunther keeps glancing away at something unseen.

“Not really. Why?”

“Then you better come quickly. To Xavier's apartment.”

“Why? What happened?”

He bits his lower lip, and rubs over his eyes with a hand. When his hand withdraws, a flood of emotion fills his glass eyes.

“He's _dying_. Xavier's _dying_. You must come quickly.”

I did not bother to reply.

 

Xavier lies in bed with the bed sheets drawn up to his neck.

“I'll leave you alone with him,” Gunther murmurs into my ear.

Gunther shuts the bedroom door behind him when he leaves. I approach Xavier's bedside. As I kneel down, his eyes flutter open, revealing his iridescent eyes. I notice for the first time that his eyes are slightly different colors, one light gray while the other more silver. His hand slides out from under the sheets, and I grip it in mine.

“Gunther said you were...you were...”

He nods.

“I'm running out of time.”

“Why? What's wrong with you?”

He pulls down the bed sheets. Long scars cover his chest, one along the line of his shoulder and arm, one almost down the center of his body and another across his stomach. There is even one close his heart. He turns his head, pointing out to me another scar I hadn’t noticed, on his neck.

“Five years ago, I was caught in an anti-doll bombing. I would have died, if the hospital I was sent to hadn't given me over to a doll research lab. A large portion of my internal organs were replaced with artificial ones. My spinal cord was fractured—they fixed it as well. The bomb damaged nearly my entire left side, including my heart. This arm...”

He squeezes my hand lightly.

“This arm isn't real. It is synthetic, like a doll's. Nearly half of my body is made up of synthetic materials, and the technology used on dolls keep me alive. I'm mostly doll now.”

“Why didn't you tell me this before?”

“Because you never established your opinion on dolls. I was afraid I would lose you if I told you.”

“I thought you knew me better than that. If you're half-doll, why can't they fix you? How can you be dying?”

“The parts used in my body are special. There aren't any like them out anymore. But they're failing. I can almost _feel_ death approaching.”

“No, Xavier, stay with me,” I plead him. “You can't die!”

He smiles, his eyes staring into mine.

“I'm sorry. I’ve run out of time. I want you to know. I love you.”

He turns his head from me and closes his eyes. The smile I cherish shines upon his face. To think that half of his body is of man-made material. His peaceful beauty is unreal, even for a doll.

“No, Xavier...don't leave me...”

“Before I go...do you remember the question I asked you the first night I took you out to dinner?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have an answer? Do dolls have souls?”

I open my mouth to speak, but then I realize that I’m too late. He is gone.

 


End file.
